


Needs

by kelly_chambliss



Category: Star Trek: Voyager
Genre: Dubious Consent, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-10-09
Updated: 2012-10-09
Packaged: 2017-11-16 00:00:37
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 5
Words: 7,352
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/533231
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kelly_chambliss/pseuds/kelly_chambliss
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Inspector Kashyk from "Counterpoint" returns to commandeer Voyager and the crew.  And Kathryn. </p><p>Written in August, 1999.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Tom Paris's Story

**Author's Note:**

> Back in 1999, I fell in love with the character of Captain Kathryn Janeway of _Star Trek: Voyager_. On the day I did a web search of her name, I changed my life forever, because one of the hits I got was for something called "The JetC Index." It was fanfic, all sorts of fanfic, glorious fanfic, terrible fanfic, explicit fanfic. I was hooked. I read voraciously for some weeks and then finally decided to try my hand at writing a story of my own.
> 
> I ended up writing probably a couple dozen VOY fics between 1999 and 2002 or so, with another few written a bit later. All are Janeway-centric. The stories are scattered in various places, so I thought I might as well gather them all here at A03.
> 
> "Needs" was the second VOY story I wrote and one that taught me a valuable lesson: never post the first parts of a story if you haven't finished the entire thing. In rereading it over a dozen years since its composition, I'm afraid it quite makes me cringe -- _way_ over the top and melodramatic. But the character of Kashyk had that effect.
> 
> Inspector Kashyk appeared only once in VOY canon, in the episode "Counterpoint." His scenes with Janeway just dripped with UST and led some of my favorite writers to create some of my all-time favorite Voyager stories. This particular tale was inspired by a couple of lines in the excellent Janeway/Kashyk fic "I Do Not Think of Her Often," by august. At one point in that story, Kashyk wonders how Kathryn's face would have looked "at the precise moment she realized she was beaten." Elsewhere, Kashyk imagines that Janeway without Voyager would be "desperate and savage."

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

It took the three of us to pull her off the Devoran guard. Tuvok, Chakotay, and me. She weighs -- what? Fifty kilos, tops? -- but it still took all three of us. And even then, she almost killed that Devoran.

Well, after we clawed her off the guy, Chakotay sort of lost it. He wrenched her around to face him, and suddenly he was gripping her shoulders, shaking her, and shouting. "Stop it! Kathryn, stop it! Do you hear me? Kathryn? It's gone! Voyager's gone! Accept it!"

I think it was the word "Voyager," even more than her own name, that finally got through to her. Anyway, she stopped fighting and stared at him.

The look on her face was something I never want to see again. On anyone. Ever.

It shook Chakotay, too, because the anger drained from his face, and he clasped her to him, rocking her back and forth. He whispered, "The ship is gone, Kathryn. I'm sorry. God, I'm sorry." He didn't try to hide his tears.

I was a little choked up myself.

But the Captain wasn't crying. She twisted out of Chakotay's grasp and glared the hell out of us. "Voyager is not gone!" she insisted. "He said the Devorans were keeping it. So our ship is out there. Somewhere. And you're not going to fight for it?"

He. Kashyk. The man she had fallen for all those months ago, when the Devorans had suspected us of harboring telepaths. Or at least, she had seemed to fall for him. They had spent hours together, and she had practically swallowed him whole that time they kissed in the shuttle bay when they thought they were alone. B'Elanna always believed that entire thing was an act, but I was never sure.

"Captain," said Tuvok, who of course had been standing there like a slab of rock during all this high drama. I'm sorry, but sometimes Vulcans are just too much for me. I sympathized with the Captain's temper; I felt ready to jump to warp myself as Tuvok went on in that emotionless voice of his. "It is true that Voyager still exists. But not, in any meaningful way, for us. At least not at this moment. We must begin to adapt ourselves to our current situation. And we must start by seeing to this Devoran."

Damn. I'd almost forgotten the guard or messenger or whatever he was. Tuvok nodded toward me, so I dug out the medkit and looked the man over and fixed him up. "He'll be fine," I said. And physically, he was. Mentally, he was scared shitless, of course, as who wouldn't be? Janeway on a tear is not a comforting sight, as I can personally attest. And she hadn't tried to strangle _me_.

"He will no doubt report this assault," said Tuvok neutrally as the guard scrambled to his feet and took off.

"What the hell is the matter with all of you?" the Captain demanded. "Let him report to whoever he damn pleases. We've got more important things to worry about. Like how to find our ship."

She has been consumed by fury for the past three days, ever since Kashyk beamed onto the bridge from out of nowhere. It was the first -- and I hope the only -- time I have ever seen Kathryn Janeway utterly at a loss. She didn't have long to gape, though, because suddenly Devoran ships were de-cloaking all over the place.

We were outnumbered, and she knew it. The rage settled on her face then and hasn't left. It was there now as she stared at us, hands on her hips.

Usually I'm happy to see that gesture. It says she's gone into kick-ass mode. But right now, it just seemed a little pointless. I mean, what did she think? That four people, marooned on some sort of abandoned Devore research station, were going to be able to mount a big miracle rescue? We didn't even know what had happened to the rest of the crew. Kashyk had beamed them all to various Devoran ships, until only the four of us were left. He'd made us help his crew fly Voyager to this hell-hole, given us some basic supplies, and then, today, dumped us here. Where he and Voyager had gone was anyone's guess.

"Well? Any ideas?" the Captain asked impatiently, looking from one to the other of us. She must have been surprised by what she saw in our faces, because her voice was suddenly plaintive. "Aren't you with me any more?"

Chakotay took a deep breath and put on that expression I know she hates. That "you're being unreasonable, but I'm going to try to reason with you anyway, because I'm a reasonable guy" look.

"Captain," he said, "what exactly is it you think we can do?"

I know I had just been wondering the same thing myself, but now I was all on her side when I heard it in Chakotay's oh-so-sensible tones.

As for her. . .well, I swear to god, if she'd had a phaser, she would have fried him.

But she never got a chance to do anything. Because just then, the door opened, and that idiot Kashyk was standing there. I wanted to smash his face in, and from the look on hers, so did the Captain.

"Choking a Devoran messenger," he said sadly. "It's not the subtle, nuanced approach I've come to admire in you, Captain."

"Fuck you," she said.

Tuvok raised both eyebrows at that one.

"If you wish," Kashyk replied. "But I was thinking of something a little less extreme. Say dinner. And perhaps coffee. Since you wouldn't let the messenger deliver the invitation, I've come to ask you myself."

"She's not going anywhere with you," snapped Chakotay.

Janeway held up her hand. "It's all right, Chakotay." She turned to Kashyk, waiting until he met her eyes. When she spoke, her voice was low and sultry. "He can take me. . . . .," she paused, looking him up and down, ". . . .to dinner if he likes."

Jesus H. Christ, as they used to say in the twentieth century. What a line. What a delivery. I didn't know where to look. Chakotay just looked sick.

Kashyk held out his arm. And the Captain took it. And she walked out the door without a backward glance.

The last few hours have been pretty tense. None of us wanted to look like we were just waiting around, but we haven't been very successful at finding anything else useful to do. Well, except for Tuvok, who got busy among the supplies. Chakotay just flung himself down on one of the lumpy pads that passes for a bed. I've been writing this log, keying in the words instead of speaking them. Somehow, there isn't any room for talking in here right now.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Well. She's back.

And I thought things were painful while we were waiting for her. But if it seemed like we were in deep shit before, we're just about buried in it now.

That same messenger brought her to the door, looking like he thought she was a photon torpedo about to go off. She came in and dropped down on one of the beds, saying nothing. After a few minutes, Chakotay couldn't take it any more.

"How was dinner?" he asked.

"It was a start," she answered.

"The start of what?"

"Of the process of winning Voyager back. Why do you think I went with him?"

I assumed she meant that Operation "Take Me. . . . . .to Dinner" had gone as planned. Not that I was about to ask.

But Chakotay couldn't leave well enough alone. "What do you mean? Are you really trying to seduce him into returning the ship?"

Silence.

He just couldn't let it drop. "Kathryn? Answer me. Did you sleep with him?"

"Commander. . ." Tuvok began.

Chakotay snarled wordlessly at him, but never took his gaze from the Captain. "Did you just fuck him?"

She looked up sharply, and I saw the need in her eyes. The need to hurt someone, the way the loss of the crew and Voyager and our support had hurt her.

"It wasn't the first time, Chakotay," she said.

He stared at her, his tattoo standing out vividly as his face paled.

Suddenly she was on her feet, eyes blazing, voice cracking. "What do you want from me? Details? Is that it? Do you want to know how big his cock is? Or how well he uses his tongue? Or how it felt to do it against the wall?"

For a minute I thought Chakotay was going to hit her. She was almost daring him to try.

But in the end, he just turned away.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

So now, here we sit. Tuvok has gone to bed. Last time I checked, the Captain was leaning back against the wall, her eyes closed. But not sleeping. Chakotay was sitting with his head in his hands.

And me? I'm just lounging here, looking at my PADD.

Because it's gotten too hard to look at either of them.


	2. Kashyk's First Story

I told her I had come back to get the remaining telepaths she had on board. She didn't even dignify that comment with words; her face showed her contempt. I couldn't blame her, of course; it wasn't much of an explanation.

So I tried again. "I don't like being beaten, Kathryn," I said quietly. "It's not something I'm willing to accept. Surely you understand that."

If she dismissed this reason, too, she didn't say so. Since it was true that defeat was anathema to her, she might even have believed me. In any case, I wasn't lying.

But neither was I telling the whole truth.

I had come back because I wanted her. I wanted her naked in my bed; I wanted my hands in her hair; I wanted her legs locked around me. I wanted her mouth on mine again.

And I wanted to defeat her.

We never had sex on Voyager. Oh, I'm sure she would have done it if she'd needed to. And I like to think she was -- is -- genuinely attracted to me. But her ship, her people, came first. She did what was necessary for them, and she denied herself everything else. When she realized that she could save her ship without sleeping with me, she turned herself off. That's something she's good at, apparently. She'd obviously steeled herself against romance with any of her own people. That dark, complex first officer, Chakotay, used to watch her with eyes full of desire and pain, but she ignored his need. At one point it had occurred to me that her heart might be with her blond borg, but if it was, she concealed it well.

I'd meant only to use her, of course, as she was using me. I'd certainly never expected that the thought of her would wrap itself around my mind. Despite the real passion of our stolen moment in the shuttle bay, I had the glories of the Devoran Imperium to consider. And later, after her coup, I had my own skin to think of and the death of Prax to arrange. But when things quieted down, I found I couldn't settle, couldn't exorcise the memory of her lips, her tongue, the palm of her hand.

It's not as if I didn't try to fight it. The battle has been long and hard.

And damn her. She beat me again.

So I tracked her down. There have been few sweeter moments in my life that when I stood once more on her bridge, savoring the shock in her eyes. Something else was there, too, briefly. Desire. Need. I saw it. I'm sure of it.

So far, everything has gone according to plan. _My_ plan, this time. She came to dinner with me, as I knew she would. She ate little -- just sat there drinking coffee and wine and radiating equal parts rage and sex. When I pushed my chair back and came to stand behind her, she leaned into my caress without hesitation.

I pulled her from her seat and fitted her body to mine. She had her mouth open before I even touched her lips. I traced her mouth with my tongue while tugging at that absurd Starfleet uniform, trying, and failing, to reach her breasts.

She made a small sound of amusement and pushed my hands away. Slowly, enticingly, she removed her clothes, trailing her fingers along her skin. She refused to let me help or touch her, so that by the time she stood naked before me, all soft curves and creamy breasts, I could hardly stand.

But the weakness lasted only a moment. I lifted her in my arms and carried her to the bed. Getting out of my own clothes required mere seconds. I had planned to take her with excruciating slowness, but both our needs were too great. She spread her legs and reached for me, lust and loathing mingling on her face. She hated me because I had taken her ship and yet could still have this effect on her, hated herself for giving in to it and me.

"Come on, then. Fuck me."

I tried to be gentle, but she writhed with frustration. "I said fuck me, damn it," she cried, thrusting up at me. I clutched her shoulders tightly and rammed into her as hard as I knew how. She cried out sharply, but kept moaning, "More. . .more."

By the time I finally reached my climax, she was sobbing, but she had never stopped begging for more.

It took a few minutes for my heart to stop its hammering, and she was still digging her fingers into my back, still holding me inside her. I moved off her carefully. Her face was flushed and tear-streaked and beautiful.

After a moment, I reached down, intending to stroke her to her own climax. But she wouldn't let me; she did it herself. She had given me her body, but her pleasure was too personal, too intimate, to share. I only got to watch.

When she finally lay still, I moved to hold her in my arms. I wanted to kiss her hair, lick her throat, enter her again. But she got up. "They'll be waiting for me," she said.

Always "they," her crew. What "they" want, what "they" need. I wonder if "they" have any idea that she lives only for them.

The pressures of command warp people, whatever their species. I know. I am beginning to realize that for Kathryn, the warping is sexual. She will not let herself simply desire. For her, sex seems possible only as part of punishment or duty. I suspect that tonight it had been both.

And now I lie here, replaying the evening in my mind. And planning tomorrow. Tomorrow, I think, I'd like to take her on her hands and knees. Or perhaps I'll replicate a Devoran courtesan's costume and remove it from her one diaphanous layer at a time. Or I might employ some light restraints. How she'll hate to be dominated. But then again, maybe she won't. We'll see. One way or another, I will be the one who teaches her how to desire again.

And after tomorrow? I'm not sure. It's dangerous to allow Kathryn Janeway too much of a chance to think. I won't be the only one who is making plans. Soon I'll have to come to a decision about her future. All their futures.

Perhaps I'll offer her a "kragh-xogh"--the Devoran "choice that is no choice." I'll tell her that if she'll consent to remain with me as my concubine, I'll return her people to their ship and let them leave. If not, I'll send them all to the telepath camps. Her included.

I know what she'll do, of course. She'll play me against myself, trying to make me believe she has accepted my path while she secretly designs her own. And she'll know I'll anticipate her treachery, so she'll try to lure me along even more false trails. Layers upon layers.

I've never had a more worthy opponent. I look forward to our games. And to kissing the palm of her hand.


	3. Kashyk's Second Story

_"How can we know the dancer from the dance?"_  
\--W. B. Yeats, "Among School Children"

 

**The Second Night**

When the messenger delivered her to my quarters, I at first did not look at her. It was perhaps too obvious a ploy; I should have known I would not gain control so easily. She didn't wait for my notice. Instead, she came over to me and reached directly for my crotch.

I moved away. "Kathryn! Don't humans believe in any kind of. . .preliminaries?"

"I'd say we've already had the preliminaries. Don't complicate this, Kashyk. We both know why I'm here. So fuck me."

"Is that what you want?"

She actually laughed. "What I want?" She drew my head down to hers and slid her tongue between my lips. In a single motion, her hands released the fastenings on my trousers. The state of my arousal was a silent comment on the notion of wanting. She laughed again, quietly this time. I heard triumph in it. I wanted to pull back, assert myself, but she was on her knees in front of me, sucking gently and then more powerfully.

Somewhere I found the strength to push her away. Or maybe she let me.

I didn't know anymore, and I felt unstable, as if the floor were suddenly tilting. To give myself time, I buttoned up and moved to the computer. She remained on her knees. I think she was smiling.

"Music?" I asked.

She lifted one shoulder. "Why not?"

Enough. The time had come to take back the lead. This dance would proceed at my tempo.

Abandoning the idea of music, I sat on the couch. If she could affect indifference, so could I. "Fine, then. This will just be about fucking. Since that's what you want."

Ah. That sparked her. She raised her head, angry. "When has this ever been about what I want? You take my ship, you take my crew, you proposition me in front of my men. Sex in exchange for Voyager. Wasn't that the idea? All right. You proposed; I accepted. I'm for sale. Here I am. What else is it that you want?"

Of course she couldn't really believe it was that simple. I sat on the floor next to her and touched her hair. "Oh, Kathryn, this isn't for Voyager. And you know it. Once we watched beautiful spirals together. Can you honestly tell me you felt nothing then? That you didn't want me? That you don't want me now?"

We stared at each other, unblinking. After an eternity, she looked away. She looked away. I expected to feel my own triumph. And I did. I think. But it didn't help. The floor continued to tilt.

I took her face in my hands and kissed her slowly. She responded with increasing passion. Somehow our clothes were off. I felt her breasts under my lips, felt her legs open beneath me. I was ready, and so was she.

But she had to say it. "Do you want me, Kathryn?" I asked.

She moaned and reached for me.

"No. Say it. Do you want me?"

"Kashyk! Please."

"Say it! Say you want me!"

She was gasping and whimpering, her hips thrusting against me. But she would not say what we both knew was true. Instead she gathered herself and shoved away from me, moving toward her scattered clothes.

All I knew was that I could not let her reach them.

I lunged for her, forcing her to her hands and knees in front of me. And I rose up behind her and fucked her hard, the way I know she wants it. She didn't fight me.

Afterward, she dressed in silence and moved toward the door. Not until I had called for the guard did she speak.

"When we watched those spirals together? We were on Voyager."

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

**The Third Night**

Tonight, I began with the mundane. "Coffee?" I offered. She accepted with a nod. It amused me to see us being so civilized, a muted prelude to our inevitable dance. Watch. Circle. Turn. Touch.

So subtle, so unutterably arousing. And I felt alive tonight, because I had come to a decision.

I have determined that this will not end until she admits that she wants me. I know she does. It has been in her eyes since the first time we were alone in her ready room. It's there in the way her legs open for me, almost of their own volition. It's there in her very defiance.

I have overturned my life for her. She will give me this.

Our coupling tonight was almost gentle. She was surprised, I think. But she takes strength from ferocity. So I will disarm her with softness; I want to soothe her, stroke her, make her come for me. It almost happened tonight. I know it will happen soon. When I entered her, she wrapped her legs around me, as I have dreamed about. It was as if she were hugging me to her.

She wants me. Needs me. But still she will not say it. Yet.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

**The Fifth Night**

We have developed a routine. I summon her; she comes. We don't say much any more. I give her a sign, she undresses, we. . .what? There is no adequate word for it in her language. "Fuck" is what they too often say. So blunt and harsh, so limited. So far, it is the only word she will let herself use with me.

But we have moved beyond mere fucking, as I'm sure she realizes. It is more than that for me, and I know that it is more than that for her, too. I feel the hunger of her lips when she kisses me; I see the ecstasy on her face as she approaches the climax she still will not let herself have.

I will use her word, if that is what she wants. I understand. She is working hard to convince herself that she sleeps with me only for Voyager. She's a captain, after all. She still believes that she cannot have desires just for herself.

But I find myself becoming a trifle angry with her for continuing to resist what I am trying to show her. The time has come for me to change the rhythm of our little waltz.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

**The Sixth Night**

She didn't balk at the restraints. I meant them to be a surprise. I waited until she was moaning on the bed, then roughly jerked her hands above her head and tied them tightly. I needed to reach her, to shock her again, as I had when I returned to her bridge.

She wasn't shocked. She even seemed to be expecting it. Her face was a mask, eyes regarding me steadily. She was just waiting, for whatever I planned to do next.

But suddenly I didn't know what to do next. I wanted to beat her, kiss her, hurt her, fuck her, love her.

What I did not want to do was to show her any uncertainty. So I took the whip from the drawer and smiled at her. I drew the lash slowly along her naked body, circling it on her breasts and then caressing her thighs.

"I could hurt you."

"Yes."

"Do you want me to?"

She was silent for a moment, looking down. Then she met my eyes. "Yes. I want you to."

Desire and punishment, then. I had been right the first night.

And I was almost wrong. I had actually raised the whip to give her what she seemed to want before I understood what else she was doing. She was just humoring me. Distracting me. Manipulating me. Using me.

She came that close to beating me again.

"Well played, Captain!" I applauded. "But, Kathryn. I'm disappointed. Did you think I wouldn't recognize the trick? Can you really find me so predictable?"

She closed her eyes. I imagine she was not used to being so easily seen through. I continued, "I will never hurt you, Kathryn. Unless you truly ask me to. Not as part of some plot to secure Voyager. Not because you think it is what I need to hear. But you. Asking me. Because you want it and want me."

She turned her head to the side, as if to escape my voice. I kissed her eyelids and untied her gently. Then, I surprised myself by making love to her. For what was really the first time. It was an irony she would appreciate. Intending to shock her, I shocked myself. For the first time, I hadn't planned. For the first time, it was not a move in the game, not a step in the dance. It was me. Her. Us. The way I saw we could be. She didn't say so, but I believe she understood.

But it is not over yet. She still can't bring herself to admit her own needs. Perhaps she has to hear it from someone whose touch does not set her afire, someone with whom she does not dance.

Tomorrow, I will let her own crew tell her.


	4. Chakotay's Story

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: Graphic Torture.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

The bastard is going to make us watch.

He sent for her again this evening, as he has done every night for the week we have been here.

Nothing was said. The guard just showed up at the door, and Kathryn stood.

"Dinner, Captain?" I asked. She flinched slightly.

Part of me hated myself for saying it, for what we were doing to each other. Part of me was glad to see the thrust hit home. What was a small stab or two?

When she had gutted me?

She didn't look at me, just tightened her jacket around her as if she were cold. And left.

She hadn't been gone long when two Devoran thugs appeared to walk Tuvok, Tom, and me down the hallway to this small room. It is sparsely furnished with just a couple of couches -- benches, really, with a flat pillow or two.

It was not until the door closed behind us that I realized that one whole wall of the room is transparent. A giant viewscreen of some kind. On the other side is another small room, also mostly empty.

Except for a bed.

Now, we sit in silence, waiting for we don't know what. At least, I hope I don't know what.

But of course I know. He is going to make us watch.

The door to the other room opens, and they are there. Kashyk. And Kathryn.

He takes her shoulders possessively and turns her to face him. We see only their profiles. He kisses her softly. She responds -- or doesn't respond. I honestly can't tell. All I know is that she doesn't move away.

"Now," he says.

She begins to undress, slowly. I can't see her expression.

I don't think she has any idea we are here; she never gives even the slightest flicker of a glance in the direction of our wall. It must be transparent only on our side.

Her motions are unhurried, displaying neither eagerness nor reluctance. Kashyk makes no move to touch her; he just watches.

Like us.

I try to figure out what he's doing, what his game is. Is he trying to demoralize us? Humiliate her? Show us his power? Warn us not to plan anything? If that's his goal, he doesn't know Kathryn. She hasn't stopped planning since we got here.

Kathryn drops the last of her clothing to the floor. She is naked. And beautiful. So beautiful.

"Jesus," breathes Paris next to me. He pulls one of the pillows onto his lap.

_Oh, Kathryn. How I needed. . .But I didn't want it to be like this. Not like this._

Kashyk runs his hands down her body, wraps his arms around her, carries her to the bed.

"I want to fuck you, Kathryn," Kashyk says.

"Do it."

Paris begins to laugh. I understand. Those words -- spoken here, now -- make a sort of travesty of her command, of our lives on Voyager. Tom's laughter starts to edge toward hysteria, until Tuvok quiets him with a hand on his shoulder.

Kashyk pauses and sits back, looking at her. "But you're only doing this for your ship, aren't you? You don't really want me, do you, Kathryn? Do you?"

"For god's sake, I'm here, in your bed. Isn't that enough?"

Kashyk is suddenly livid. "Enough? Enough? Do you have any idea what I'm risking? What I stand to lose every day I stay with you? What the thought of you drives me to?" He is almost foaming. "You want enough? Here's enough!"

He grabs her by the hair and slaps her, heavy blows that snap her head back. Now he's squeezing his hands around her throat, pinning her to the bed, forcing her legs apart with his knees.

Kathryn fights him, gets her arm free, drives her fist into his face.

Kashyk roars, maddened. It is an alien sound that reminds me just how far we are from home.

Kathryn has no chance against him now. He pulls her arm above her head, and I notice the ropes that must have been hanging there this whole time.

She still struggles, but she has lost. Soon she is tied firmly, her wrists and ankles straining against the bonds.

I find that I am on my feet, pressed against the transparent wall, futilely trying to reach through.

The billowing bedclothes mercifully hide her from us somewhat. I can't clearly see her face or her nakedness. And I'm glad.

_Dearest Kathryn, I'm such a damned coward. Forgive me._

Kashyk reaches under his tunic. "Enough?" he snarls.

He has a whip in his hand, the lash thin, dangerous. He steps back, raises it. Brings it down.

Kathryn screams; her body arches.

"Jesus," says Paris again. It is something close to a sob this time. Or a prayer.

The whip whistles through the air a second time. Lands. He pauses, breathing heavily as her shriek echoes in the room.

In our ears.

"You damned. . .son of a bitch," Kathryn gasps, her voice ragged. "You said. . ."

"Never without your consent," he finishes. "I know. I lied. Oh, don't look so betrayed. It's nothing more than you've been doing to me."

The whip falls again. He is using all his strength.

"It's what you have always done to me, since our first meeting on Voyager. Tricked me."

"But you. . .would have done the same. . .to us."

He smiles through his rage. "True. But it feels different when you're the one being done to, doesn't it?"

He hits her again, but she makes no sound this time. God knows what the effort must be costing her; I only know what it means. She will no longer give him the satisfaction of hearing her scream.

_Kathryn. So brave. Even when you don't have to be._

In the Maquis, in Starfleet. . .you always know that something like this is possible. That you might have to witness the torture or rape or murder of your friends and colleagues. You can imagine few things worse.

But you always know it can happen.

And when it does, you are never prepared. I am certainly not prepared for this. For it to be Kathryn.

_Oh, please not Kathryn. Not you. ___

__I turn my attention back to the scene before me, feeling guilty that I have left her alone for even a few seconds._ _

__Spirits help me, I have lost track of the blows. Six? Seven? Ten?_ _

__Her wrists are raw from the rope. But she is still silent, only her tightly-clenched fists betraying her effort and pain._ _

__I want to scream myself, throw myself against the door, something. But I sit._ _

__Because there is nothing we can do._ _

__Kashyk lowers the whip yet again. And again. Finally a whimper escapes Kathryn._ _

__The sound touches Kashyk somehow. He drops the whip to the floor and stands there, shaking._ _

__A sudden pounding in my chest makes me realize that I have been holding my breath. I let it out slowly._ _

__Tuvok sits impassively, or so I think. Then I see that he holds one of the small pillows. It is shredded._ _

__Tom Paris goes over to the corner and throws up._ _

__The tableau in front of us moves. Kashyk clambers onto the bed, frantically loosening the restraints. "I'm sorry; I'm sorry; I'm sorry," he repeats, over and over._ _

__He gathers Kathryn into his arms. His mouth is on her face and throat. He's smoothing her hair and kissing her, and his caresses seem to me almost as obscene as his violence._ _

__He holds her face in his hands and says, "I only need you to want me. Just want me."_ _

__Kathryn shifts away from him and crawls slowly to her knees._ _

__She is bloody. I want to look away from the welts, but I can't._ _

__"Know this," she says. If I didn't see her lips move, I would not know the voice is hers._ _

__"If I see you again, I will kill you."_ _

__"Kathryn. . ."_ _

__"Don't doubt me."_ _

__I don't._ _

__And I can see in his face that neither does Kashyk._ _


	5. Tuvok's Story

The image is one that will remain with me for a long time.

I sat with Commander Chakotay and Ensign Paris in the Devoran observation chamber, watching as Inspector Kashyk untied the Captain, and she came to her knees to face him.

"I will kill you," she said.

Her gaze was locked with Kashyk's. He looked away, turning abruptly toward the door.

She reached out to brace herself against the wall, but otherwise was motionless. She was pale, naked, injured, and vulnerable.

But her eyes did not waver. I have rarely had a greater sense of her strength.

The moment ended as the transparent wall suddenly went dark, and the three of us were left to ourselves.

After a brief silence, Mr. Paris began kicking the door.

Commander Chakotay roused himself and stood. "Tom," he said.

"Shit!" shouted Paris, pushing the Commander. Punctuating each phrase with an additional shove, he yelled, "Why didn't we do something? Why didn't you do something? Huh? You're the big fucking Maquis. . ."

"Ensign," I intervened, moving toward him. "There was nothing we could do."

"Get away from me, you freak! Jesus, we just sat here! And let him. . .let him. . ."

The Commander touched the ensign's shoulder briefly. "I know, Tom. I know. But stop this now. We have to get out of here."

I began to examine the wall. If we were, in fact, in an observation chamber, it would be logical to assume that this room would contain controls for the viewscreen. We could at least monitor the Captain's movements. But while I was looking, we heard a rattle at the door.

I exchanged glances with the others. There was no need to speak. If at all possible, we would overpower the guards.

It was not possible. There were four of them, carrying what looked like phaser rifles. One guard thrust a medkit into Mr. Paris's hands. Another motioned us to follow him. Inspector Kashyk was not among them.

They took us to the Captain. She was still in the room next door, alone, lying curled on the bed, her eyes closed.

At first Mr. Paris seemed reluctant to touch her, but then his medical training took over.

It has often been observed that humans function best in a crisis if they have some specific task to accomplish. The Commander and Mr. Paris no doubt experienced relief at being able to do something active to assist the Captain after their earlier helplessness. The sensation is not unfamiliar to Vulcans.

We worked together to aid her as quickly as we could. The medical supplies were only basic, but we were able to address the worst of Captain Janeway's wounds.

She spoke only once during the treatment. When Commander Chakotay reached to repair her torn wrists, she opened her eyes and stopped him for a moment, placing her hands over his.

"I'm sorry," she said.

The Commander did not reply; he merely brought her hands to his lips.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

When the guards saw that the Captain was resting as comfortably as she could, they locked the door and left us for the night.

Mr. Paris was angry. "She can't stay here," he said, gesturing at the rumpled bed. "Not where. . ."

"It is preferable to the floor," I reminded him. The Commander said nothing.

I suggested that I maintain a watch while the others slept, but the Commander and Mr. Paris elected to remain awake. We spent the night listening to the Captain's breathing.

In the morning, her condition was improved. She insisted upon donning her uniform. She was still not completely healed, but if the pressure of the clothing hurt her, she never betrayed it to us. Nor would I have expected her to.

We were mostly silent. I sensed that Mr. Paris and the Commander wanted to speak with the Captain, reassure her in some way, but they did not know how to begin. She is the Captain; she sets the tone. And she seemed not to want any words.

When the Devorans came to unlock the door, I expected them to return us to our former cell. Instead, we were taken to a transporter room.

Seconds later, we stood on the bridge of Voyager. Other crew members were materializing all around us, questioning and talking excitedly.

Only the four of us were quiet. Captain Janeway ran her hand along the top of the command chair.

"Captain," called Ensign Kim. "The Devorans are hailing us."

She slowly sat in her chair, then lifted her chin. "Onscreen."

"No visual, Captain. Just audio."

The voice of Inspector Kashyk filled the bridge. "Federation Starship Voyager. You are cleared to leave Devoran Deep Space Outpost Number 15."

The Captain looked over at me, and I answered her unspoken query. "All crew members are on board and accounted for."

She took a breath. When she spoke, she sounded as calm and impersonal as if she were responding to a computer.

"Mr. Paris. Set a course for the Alpha Quadrant. Maximum warp. Engage."

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Four weeks have gone. There is no sign of pursuit by the Devorans. Overall, things appear to be back to normal. Not long after Voyager was under way again, the Commander asked the Captain if she wished to take psychological leave. She refused. This decision has proven to be correct: her performance of her duties has not suffered. She and the Commander work smoothly together as always. Mr. Paris has resumed his bantering manner.

Appearances are deceiving, of course. A darkness shadows the bridge that was not here before. Thoughts come through to me as we go about our daily routine. Mr. Paris is still unsettled by the fact that the only action he took during our enforced voyeurism was to become briefly aroused. It is a feeling he has not forgotten. He cannot quite regard the Captain in the way he used to.

Commander Chakotay sits quietly, but his mind is often chaotic. Their voices flash through his head: "Just want me. . .Never without your consent. . .Do it." He cannot stop remembering and imagining, cannot stop thinking about the Captain and Kashyk and consent and desire and pain and wanting. He resists sorting the tangle into explicit questions, even though they torment him all the more for remaining unasked.

From the Captain, I can sense little.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

In the days that followed our return, the Captain received the Commander's formal report on the Devoran encounter, but she did not comment on her own experiences. Given her position, there are few in whom she can confide. Since I am one of those few, I went to her quarters one evening, to see if she wished to talk. She often finds it soothing to speak with me, as I have come to do with her. We are both of us solitary people who know how not to encroach.

"Tuvok," she said when the door opened. She did not seem surprised to see me.

"Captain."

"Come in; sit."

Over the years, we have reached a point at which our conversations do not require the indirection of small talk. I began, "I have come hoping you would be willing to discuss your recent conflict with Inspector Kashyk."

After a moment, she nodded. "What would you like to know?"

In addition to her own well-being, I had been pondering several other issues. I started with perhaps the most puzzling. "I have to confess, Captain, that I did not believe we would escape so easily from the Devorans. In fact, it occurred to me more than once that we might not escape at all."

"I think that idea occurred to every one of us, Tuvok."

"If I may say so, Captain, Inspector Kashyk seemed to have developed something of an obsession with you. Generally in such cases, the obsessed individual does not readily relinquish the object of his preoccupation. I do not understand why the Inspector was willing to let us -- let you -- go."

She drew her legs up on the couch and clasped her arms around her knees while she considered her reply. I could see that she almost smiled. "He would not have had me find him predictable."

"Captain?"

She did not explain further. Instead, she went on, "As you say, he let us go. It was _his_ choice, his move. Our leaving was a gift I had to accept from him."

"This bothers you?"

She was quiet for so long that I thought she might not answer. At last she said, rather obscurely, "I am in his debt. He would need that."

"You seem to have a clear understanding of the Inspector."

She did smile then. "Oh, yes."

I turned my attention to her own status. "You are well, Captain?"

She knew what I was asking. "Yes, I think I'm well, Tuvok."

"It was a painful ordeal."

"I've endured worse."

The statement contained no self-pity or bravado. Captain Janeway is not without her personal delusions, but I had no sense that she was trying to deny the effects of her encounter with Inspector Kashyk. She was merely voicing a truth, searching, perhaps, for perspective.

"Yes, you have, Captain," I agreed. "If you don't mind, there is something I would like to ask you along that line."

"Go ahead."

"When you told Inspector Kashyk you would kill him, I fully believed you. As did he."

She waited.

"Given that Inspector Kashyk's torture was not the most severe you have known, I was curious as to why your reaction was so strong."

To give her time to gather her thoughts, I continued, "It was not as if you had to prove anything to us; you did not know you were being observed. . ."

She drew in her breath at that and looked away. I paused, berating myself. I had not intended to hurt her. I know humans well and Captain Janeway particularly well, but I still find that I am not always able to predict what will most wound them.

When she turned back to me, her eyes were intense. "He had Voyager, Tuvok. He had Voyager, and he was playing -- He kept asking if I wanted him. . .I . . .he. . .he didn't understand; it wasn't a game. . .well, not one I could let him win. . .not the ship. . .I wouldn't. . ."

Her voice caught, and she stared at her feet, one hand tracing deep grooves into the fabric of the couch. She is better than most humans at keeping her feelings from me, but I could sense that she had not finished answering my question, for me or for herself. I understood; neither of us is comfortable with incoherence.

After quite a long time, her fingers stilled, and she spoke.

"It was because he had Voyager."

She stopped. Then,

"And, Tuvok?"

"Yes, Captain?"

She looked me full in the face.

"It was because I did want him."


End file.
